


Wrong Actions

by AuroraRebellion



Series: Archanea Week 2018 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Genre: Archanea Week, Dad Jagen, Hi Cornelius is an awful father but thankfully Jagen knows how to not suck, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Marth is a baby boy, Prompt: Veteran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 12:56:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15663666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraRebellion/pseuds/AuroraRebellion
Summary: He's not very good at swordplay, frankly. He's near always doing something wrong, and he can't seem to learn despite Father's best efforts to teach him. However, Jagen somehow remains patient with him.(Written for Archanea week's prompt of 'Veteran')





	Wrong Actions

The twist of the sword jars his wrist uncomfortably, and the weapon in his hand goes clattering to the ground with a sound that makes him wince.  
Father’s lips press into a thin line and he knows it’s his fault Father is upset- he’s been doing this wrong for a while now. This is the fifth time he’s dropped his sword.  
“Your grip is wrong,” Father barks. “Have you remembered nothing of what I told you?”  
He bites the inside of his cheek.  
“I’m sorry, Father.”  
Father sighs and sheaths his sword, turning away. His cape billows behind him, and he looks regal. Regal and composed and strong: things his son the prince of Altea will never be.  
“I have other engagements to attend to,” he says. “Jagen, please try to teach him _something_.”  
He looks over to Jagen. The old knight’s face is unreadable as he nods, and he fears Jagen is just as cross as Father is.  
“Understood, sire,” Jagen says.  
Father walks away, and he quickly picks up his sword before Jagen crosses over to stand beside him.  
“If I may, sire?” Jagen asks. He hangs his head and holds out his sword, trying to use the grip Father has been trying to teach him. Jagen makes a sound of disapproval, and he wants to hide in a hole somewhere far, far away, when the knight’s callused hands close over his, adjusting his grip on the hilt of the sword.  
“Your form was excellent, sire,” Jagen says. “...For a sword heavier than this. I believe you are better suited to a rapier, and this sword reflects that.”  
He stays quiet, trying his best to lock into his memory exactly how his fingers wrap around the hilt with this new grip, where his palm presses against the wood and where it doesn't as much.  
“Thus, this is how you should hold it.”  
Jagen’s hands stay there for a moment, and he contemplates how gentle they are- it’s a sharp contrast to Father’s harsh grip- before Jagen lets go and he’s struck by the childish urge to reach out for the knight’s hand.  
“Let us go through a few sword drills with the new grip, sire,” Jagen says. He nods and tries to focus. He’s familiar with the pattern of the drills, Jagen never makes him do anything out of order, but he’s focused on how to hold his sword and he forgets he needs to step forward until it’s too late and he’s thrown off balance, nearly stumbling and cringing away from the scolding he’s sure is coming.  
Jagen says nothing.  
“...Sorry,” he mumbles, just to fill the silence.  
“What, may I ask, for, sire?”  
He pauses.  
“For- for doing it wrong,” he tries. Jagen frowns and he fears that maybe only now has he truly made a mistake.  
“Not at all, sire. You have clearly noted your mistake. I simply ask that you correct it.”  
He nods, and retries the movement. Jagen hums and nods in approval, and he feels relief flood through him.  
The next few drills aren't hard, and the new grip feels far more natural. He no longer has to twist his arm so awkwardly.  
“Excellent work, sire,” Jagen says as he finishes the final swing. “If I may, I would suggest taking a rest for now. We will resume your training later.”  
“Now? But Jagen-”  
“With all due respect, sire, I cannot expect you to fight as a grown man is able to. You must work up to that.”  
He feels his face flush, and he bites his tongue.  
“...Sire,” Jagen calls. He looks up just as Jagen places a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
“You will be able to stand as equals with your elders, one day,” Jagen says. “I have absolute faith in that. It will simply take time, my lord.”  
Something in his chest flutters, and despite himself the corners of his mouth pull themselves upwards into a smile.  
Jagen returns the smile, expression warming, before he steps away.  
Jagen… Jagen believes in him. Jagen believes that he can improve.  
He finds himself grinning as he sheaths his sword.


End file.
